


owlluminati confirmed

by ThinkingCAPSLOCK



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M, Photographer Bokuto, model akaashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7160318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkingCAPSLOCK/pseuds/ThinkingCAPSLOCK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look at me, Akaashi."</p>
<p>Akaashi looks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	owlluminati confirmed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dimanchemieux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimanchemieux/gifts).



> a very special HAPPY birthday to my dear friend bun!! im so glad to know you and i hope you enjoy this fic... i debated what to write you for a while but you got me all excited abt models again so, here you go!
> 
> also, please thank chesally for the fic title pun, it was all her. for you. on this special day.

"Tilt your head a bit more to the left, Akaashi. Little more. Down? Perfect. Hold it there." 

It's uncomfortable, but Akaashi holds it, as the flashes light up and dazzle the set in white. Bokuto shifts out of his line of sight, and Akaashi hears him move across the floor to the right (but doesn't see it, as he can't move his eyes let alone his head until the shot's complete). The shuffling of feet as an assistant runs, the familiar sound of a reflector unfolding. Another blue gel over the backlight. Another test shot. 

He blinks, but doesn't move. He is, after all, a professional. 

Bokuto's back moments later, finally satisfied. He gets back up on his set up of a chair stacked on a refreshment table he's cleared to get the angle he wants. Without a tripod, it goes a little slower, but he's getting used to holding the poses for the extra five minutes it takes Bokuto to compose his shots. He's seen the results. It's worth it.

The lights are hot, and he's in a sweater over an Oxford shirt, but he holds on, one hand against his neck, the other casually hooked onto a belt loop, as if stopped midstride, midturn, as someone calls for him. (He hopes he can keep the sweater: black and white, patterned with a cityscape at night across the shoulders and along the bottom. He'd wear it all the time). It isn't until Bokuto moves his hand that Akaashi shifts, and then it's just his eyes, following the points where Bokuto wants him to look. 

It's the end of the pose when Bokuto yells "Now smile real big for the camera, Akaashi!"

Akaashi never does, just because he likes to see Bokuto's reaction when he glares and walks off set. He only lets himself smile when he's out of range.

-

"You always make a beeline for the food, don't you?" Bokuto's voice floats in from behind Akaashi as he hovers his hand over, well, more food. He slides it back to his pocket, a practiced motion made to look casual (as most of his movements are). When he turns, Bokuto's staring with a raised eyebrow, his amber eyes bright in the dim light.

"I'm just hungry," Akaashi replies, which isn't a lie, but it isn't the whole truth. He just likes free food.

"You just like free food," Bokuto says, crossing his arms on his chest with a laugh. His thin shirt wrinkles at the movement, lifting up against his torso. He has a bandana stuffed in his one pant pocket, a lens cap in the other. Both are nearly falling out. "You got off set before I could say, but these shots are really turning out. You're doing well this morning."

"Thank you," Akaashi nods. Considering their conversation over, he turns back to the table and considers what he wants to eat next. He probably has time for a second orange, especially if Bokuto's wandering around chatting to the talent. His team must be setting up the next shot.

"Man, Akaashi, you can relax a bit, you know? You're on break. You don't need to keep all your model stances and movements." Akaashi glances over his shoulder, keeping his face neutral. Bokuto takes a step back in order to dramatically point at his face. "See! Like that!"

"You're extra loud this morning," Akaashi replies. He decides to go for the orange, picking it up and digging his nails in. He'll have to wash his hands before the next shoot. "What's got you excited?"

"I told you already! The shots are really turning out and you're so easy to work with. Days like this just get me so... energized! And inspired! And ready to find the perfect shot!!" He throws his head back to laugh. The lens cap falls from his pocket to the floor. He doesn't notice. "I've got this great idea for the next shots, too, I just saw your outfit..." 

When he looks back down, his eyes are burning bright as the lights turn on at the set (and the crew warns not to look at the set lights, but say nothing about Bokuto's eyes). Akaashi spends the next ten minutes absently peeling, absently eating, wholly focused on Bokuto's energy.

-

"Look at me, Akaashi."

Akaashi looks.

He's been told by everyone (his own mother when he was five, his teachers, his old volleyball team, the first scout he ever encountered, Bokuto, the first day they met as they sat in the hospital emergency room) that he has an intense stare. That it holds power: to draw people in, to make them question, wonder. To push people away and have them never forget the dread and terror they feel. That it doesn't just see, or observe, or assess, but it stares through people, into them, understanding them, while letting nothing about himself be understood.

Needless to say, he doesn't do it much outside modeling. 

Bokuto often asks him to do it, and Akaashi is the first to admit it does work with his unusual photography style, doubtless one of the reasons the company hired them to work together. And today, it works well with the set, and the clothes. Akaashi lounges on an ornate chair, gaudy, covered in gold foils and brocade. It sits, sturdy, in a set of wrecked furniture (a throne fit for his majesty, as Bokuto had said with a low bow as he escorted him to it). So, when asked, he turns that gaze to the camera, and doesn't blink. He just looks.

He doesn't focus on the camera. His gaze goes through it, to Bokuto's bright amber eyes, to the deep turning gears in his mind as he lowers himself two inches to reframe his shot. Akaashi looks out through the weeks and months, to the future, at the girls flipping through the spread in a magazine, at the passersby at a busy intersection glancing up towards the ad. He looks out, and down, a king on his throne gazing out on his subjects.

The smirk comes, uncalled and unintentional, at that thought. He clues in, seconds later, but before he can drop it Bokuto shifts again and yells for Akaashi to hold it, right there. Not to move a single inch before he gets this. That the shot is perfect.

That Akaashi's perfect.

-

Akaashi tracks down Bokuto as the shoot wraps up. He's in the corner of the set, where the props have been removed and the lights turned off to cool. Bokuto is methodical as he puts away his equipment, his brows lowered, biting his tongue as he flips lenses and puts the main body of the camera away, as he collapses the unused tripod and slides it into place. He glances over his shoulder, briefly meeting Akaashi's eyes, and then turns back to zip up the back.

He does a massive double take two seconds later.

"Gah!!" his yell is loud enough to rattle the light nearby. "Don't sneak up on me like that, Akaashi!" 

"I wasn't aware I was sneaking," Akaashi says. "I just hadn't announced myself yet."

"That's the same thing!"

Akaashi shrugs, as if that's a sufficient answer. He shuffles the sweater (he gets to keep it) in his hands, running a finger over the sleeve. "What are you going to be doing this evening?"

Bokuto hums, hefting the bag onto his shoulder as he stands. There's no slouch to him as he straightens: he holds it as if it weighs nothing, his frame towering over everything (even over Akaashi). With one finger, he taps his chin, his head cocked to the side. 

"Weeeeell, I think I'll go home, take a nap, and then spend the rest of my night sorting through the shots from this week. Maybe shower, at some point, I'm kinda sweaty. Dunno. Work until I crash at like 3am on my couch, basically! Deadlines, you know. It's hard having to edit all the photos yourself and hold a job!" 

"So you're busy, then," Akaashi says. He keeps the frown from his face and his hands in the sweater. He stills them, breaking his eye contact with Bokuto to study the pattern again.

"Yup! I'm busy."

Something must show on his face anyway, because Bokuto leans forward, very far forward, his breath warm on Akaashi's face when he exhales. Akaashi's very used to people in his personal space: his agent, other models, hair and makeup teams. Most photographers give him space. Bokuto does not. 

"What's wrong, Akaashi? It's not like you to come over here and ask me that without a reason," his voice is soft, a little teasing, on the edge of serious just in case it really is a problem and he needs to react. Bokuto's good at adjusting to what needs to be done. 

"Nothing is wrong. My agency is holding an event tonight, and I'm allowed to bring guests. I wasn't sure if you were invited, or free, and wanted to attend." He focuses on the patterns of stars on the sweater, trying to ignore Bokuto's impossibly large figure looming in the edges of his eyes. "I know photographers are often excluded from these things, so I thought I'd ask if you wanted to come with me."

That isn't the whole reason, but he can't name the whole reason, not with Bokuto so close and his chest a little tight. He doesn't think his face feels warm just because of Bokuto's breathing anymore.

"Akaashi-"

Akaashi waves his hand, ending the gesture by shoving Bokuto's face back to an appropriate distance away from his. "You're busy, so nevermind it. I wouldn't want to take you away from your job, especially when you're close to a deadline." A pause. He searches his mind for the words he wants, but comes up empty, and the urgency that Bokuto will be able to read his posture, or his words, makes him end the conversation instead. "I'll see you tomorrow, Bokuto." 

He spins on his heel, head down, fingers so tight in the sweater he might be ruining it. Bokuto calls for him again. Akaashi feels too (too what? he asks himself, and again comes up empty) to turn back around. 

-

It's half an hour into the event when Akaashi sees him.

Bokuto knows how to dress up, for all his messy, casual clothes at shoots: he's in a well-tailored suit, his usually spiked hair slicked back, a shrimp cocktail (that he only knows how to eat because Akaashi taught him last week) in his hand. His pocket square has small cameras on it, and he laughs the loudest at the end of a joke from another model.

The moment the group starts to disperse, Akaashi storms his way over, throwing all his careful composure aside so that when Bokuto looks his way, he full on wilts under the glare. He stops closer to Bokuto than he usually would, but still further away than the photographer often stands form him. It takes all his willpower to keep from grabbing Bokuto's shirt and shaking it. 

"What," Akaashi hisses, his low voice hardly carrying over the chatter around them, "are you doing here?"

"You invited me!" Bokuto takes a moment to square his shoulders, shifting the shrimp cocktail between them as his last line of defense. He meets Akaashi's glare for a moment, then looks away. "Though I'm a bit late, you never said where it was, so I had to ask Kuroo and-"

" _You_ said you were busy, which is why I didn't tell you any details." He brings his hand up, unable to stop himself, and Bokuto brandishes his hors d'oeuvre like a shield. At the last second, Akaashi flicks Bokuto squarely in the forehead (earning a yelp), before using the hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Whatever. You're here. _Why_ are you here?"

Bokuto rubs his forehead with his free hand. "Well... if you were going, I knew there'd be free food involved and I didn't want to make dinner, and - hey, stop glaring like that, I'm joking!" Akaashi stops glaring. As much. Bokuto gives a short laugh under his breath. "Geez, Akaashi, you can make anyone get to the point, can't you?

"Anyway," and he punctuates the word by stuffing shrimp in his mouth, "I was standing in the shower, thinking about the nap I was gonna take, and I was like, what's more important? A bit of sleep, or going to some industry event Akaashi actually wants me at? Like, something he went outta his way to ask me about, in his own, awkward way, really last minute-"

"I was only invited yesterday," Akaashi mutters. He finally breaks eye contact to look to the side. He watches some guests chat in groups, their words hardly reaching his ears. "It wasn't for talent when it was arranged."

"All the same! I thought, Bokuto, you're not the kinda guy to let a friend go to a stuffy party on his own, especially when said friend spends his days being stuffy to begin with." As a server passes by, Bokuto gracefully places the now shrimpless cup on the platter, and ruins the moment by wiping his hand on his blazer. "So I'm here to keep you company and make you look good as you meet and greet a bunch of people I have... honestly never seen before!"

At that, Akaashi has to draw on his skills to keep himself from smiling. "So you have no idea whose joke you just laughed at?"

"None!! I'm actually glad you found me, I don't know how long I can fake it in this crowd..." Bokuto shrugs, rubs the back of his head and shifts on his feet. 

Akaashi, unable to hold it in, gives a short, barking laugh. "Alright, Bokuto. Stay close and I'll introduce you to all of these mysterious industry strangers. Sometimes I forget you're not usually this kind of photographer."

"Nah, don't worry. It's easy to. Talent like you makes it look like I've been doing this my whole life." He flashes what he probably means to be a charming smile, following it with a mischievous wink. Akaashi rolls his eyes in response. It only makes Bokuto happier. "Can we get more food first? I am actually hungry."

"You know how I feel about free food," Akaashi replies. Bokuto claps him on the shoulder, another laugh bubbling out. It makes Akaashi smile, and for a brief moment, he rests his hand over Bokuto's on his shoulder (and he knows he shouldn't encourage this behaviour with Bokuto, but he does it anyway). "I'm glad you're here."

"I know," Bokuto says, and he leans down to close the gap between his mouth and Akaashi's ear. "That's why I came."

It's the breath on his ear and the closeness of the words, Akaashi decides, that makes him shiver. He pulls Bokuto's hand off his shoulder and turns on his heel to lead the way towards the catering tables. Bokuto follows half a step behind, taking in a deep breath before he opens his mouth to chat again. 

-

Somehow, two hours later, Akaashi ends up going home with him.

It's not the first time he's ended up at Bokuto's house - the shoots have a way of being far from where Akaashi lives, and close to where Bokuto lives, and Bokuto's never one to turn away a guest. With tomorrow's set twenty minutes away, and Bokuto's apartment barely that far away from the event, it just makes sense to stay. 

To save time.

Akaashi tells himself that, on repeat, as he leans on Bokuto's arm on the couch, the TV on (though muted) in the background. Instead of watching it, he watches the photos flickering across Bokuto's laptop screen. He's wearing some spare set of old clothes from who knows where in the mess that is Bokuto's apartment, and Bokuto's not dressed much better. Worn, old, but comfortable. He's stolen one of Bokuto's blankets and draped it around himself. 

It is interesting to watch, and he's always liked seeing previews of the shoots. Bokuto works quickly, discarding photos at the slight wrong angle, marking those he likes best the next second. As interested as he is, and as hard as he tries, Akaashi still finds his eyes start to glaze over the more photos Bokuto sorts.

Bokuto, still uncannily able to sense his moods, stops flicking photos to look down at him. "You can unmute the TV if you want. I know this isn't that interesting."

"It's interesting," Akaashi replies. He stifles a yawn. Bokuto shifts his arm up and Akaashi drops his head back down against Bokuto's chest instead. Bokuto settles the arm around his shoulders, twisting into the blanket, before floating back to the keyboard. "I'm just a little tired."

"You're literally falling asleep, 'Kaashi. You can crash in my bed."

"I'm fine here. Your bed's a mess."

"You've got me there!" The laugh is soft and it echoes in Akaashi's ears, above his head and in Bokuto's chest. Bokuto types, shifts images, and Akaashi tries to focus on it for a bit longer - to see Bokuto at work, to watch his amber eyes focus and narrow, that dedication and concentration coming forward even in the middle of the night.

But it's hard, and he's tired (more than a little tired, at that). His eyes close, and when they open, it's a photo from another day, another shoot. Another TV show, silent, in the background. Only Bokuto remains the same each time he looks up, though perhaps hunched a little closer to the screen. Akaashi shifts, slightly, but it's enough to draw Bokuto's attention down from the screen.

"Go back to sleep," Bokuto whispers, and it must be late, and Akaashi must be tired, because he finds himself smiling, amused at how quiet Bokuto is. As if such a loud, boisterous man knows how to have a quiet moment. It might be the first ever in his life. He feels the smile grow on his face.

Bokuto's eyes twinkle, or perhaps it's just how the laptop screen light hits them, but he seems to understand Akaashi's thoughts. "Hey, now. Don't ruin such a handsome smile thinking something mean, Akaashi."

"Mm... I'm always handsome. I'm a model."

A laugh. "I know. Just get some rest, okay? I'll wake you up in the morning." 

"Kay," Akaashi mumbles, and it sounds slurred, so he closes his eyes. The clicks on the keyboard slow as his mind slips, darker and deeper, the edges of his thoughts clouded with sleep. Something digs into the back of his head, sharp at first, then moving, slowly, surely, fingers tracing a familiar pattern in his hair he can't focus on or place. It makes his chest feel light and relaxes him, the stiffness of the day melting away. He lets the sensation wash over him until he feels nothing at all.

(Later, Akaashi doesn't remember if he dreamt the feeling, the conversation. But he hopes he didn't.

Both were nice.)


End file.
